


Play 1950

by a_hand_outstretched



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Blow Jobs, But it's Christmas, College, Crossdressing Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, M/M, Not a whiff of plot to be found here, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Probably not cringey or traumatic enough to be truly in character for these boys, Rimming, so here's porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28201098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_hand_outstretched/pseuds/a_hand_outstretched
Summary: “Oh, please.” Stewy rolled his eyes. “I’m not your little housewife heeding your every beck and call.”Kendall did a funny little jump at that. He stammered. “I know you’re not — I mean —”Stewy caught it, of course, and seized on it. He leaned down over him. “Oh, you fucking wish. You want me in heels and pearls, sucking you off at the dinner table?”
Relationships: Stewy Hosseini/Kendall Roy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Play 1950

_I like it when we play 1950_  
_So bold, make 'em know that you're with me_

Kendall broke his leg in two places on a ski trip over winter break. He was a complete baby about it, of course, and the ditzy chick he’d been dating for all of three weeks took it upon herself to move into their apartment in order to dote on the invalid. The whole situation drove Stewy up the fucking wall. In one of the rare moments she was gone and Kendall was posted up on the couch in the living room, he called to Stewy on his way out the door. 

“Hey, can you get me some orange juice before you go?” 

Stewy didn’t say anything. He walked to the kitchen, poured a glass of juice, drank it, then carried the empty glass to the living room. Kendall held out his hand expectantly when he saw him, but instead of handing it over, Stewy pretended to throw it at him. Kendall flinched, expecting to be hit with liquid that wasn’t there. 

“Get your own damn juice,” Stewy said. 

“Fuck you, I can barely walk,” Kendall whined. 

“Oh, please.” Stewy rolled his eyes. “I’m not your little housewife heeding your every beck and call.” 

Kendall did a funny little jump at that. He stammered. “I know you’re not — I mean —” 

Stewy caught it, of course, and seized on it. He leaned down over him. “Oh, you fucking wish. You want me in heels and pearls, sucking you off at the dinner table?” 

“Jesus Christ. Uh — No — I mean — uh, maybe — I don’t —” Kendall’s face went red. 

Stewy raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Vanilla is into some kinky shit after all, huh? Noted.” 

Kendall shoved him away, almost falling off the couch while doing so. “Shut up.”

Stewy went on his way, Kendall’s leg healed, the ditzy chick was eventually dumped, and the conversation wasn’t referenced again. But Stewy doesn't forget intel like that. 

  
  


A few months later, Kendall comes home after class to the smell of something burning in their apartment. He’s half-worried something is actively on fire, so he walks quickly to the kitchen. There are no flames, just a charred pizza sitting on the stovetop and — And. He does a double-take. 

Stewy is sitting on the counter nearby dressed like — well, a girl, except he doesn’t look like a girl at all, he looks like… Stewy. Spaghetti straps and a low neckline reveal broad shoulders, chest hair, toned muscles — all things Kendall loves and envies in equal measure. Maybe that fact — that Stewy’s more of a man than Kendall is even in fucking lingerie — would piss him off if it wasn’t also the most scorchingly hot shit he’s ever seen in his life. He’s not wearing makeup or a wig or anything cheesy like that, just a dark slip and heels that look like they were made for him. Maybe they were. The thought that he might have planned this that carefully is a little too much for Kendall to process. He drops everything he’s holding — backpack, keys, hat — to the floor at once. 

“Holy fucking shit.” 

Stewy crosses his legs and smirks. The slip rides up on his thighs in a way that makes Kendall’s brain short circuit. He’s holding a bottle of whiskey that he’s clearly been drinking straight; his cheeks are flushed and his gaze is a little glassy. 

“So, dinner’s fucked,” he says, like that’s the only thing out of the ordinary here. 

“I can see that,” Kendall says, mentally shaking himself out of his daze. He doesn’t want to fuck this up, say something stupid that breaks the spell of the moment. He’s too in his head to be good at things like this. He walks over to him, slowly wrapping a hand around the back of his knee to uncross his legs. His fingers tingle where they touch his skin, like they’re both charged with electricity. He gets close, standing between his legs. He braces his arms against the counter on either side of him. “Are you going to make it up to me?” 

Stewy leans down to kiss him. Kendall takes the bottle out of his hands and breaks the kiss to take a swig. Stewy pulls him up again and Kendall spits the whiskey into his mouth. Stewy laughs, surprised and delighted. He swallows, then grabs the bottle back so he can do the same thing to Kendall. 

“You’re the boss. Why don’t you tell me what I owe you?” 

This is definitely a… twist… on their normal dynamic, if they even have such a thing. Occasional drunken hookups evolved into a handsy roommate relationship evolved into neither-of-us-have-girlfriends-at-the-moment-and-we-maybe-probably-definitely-spend-too-much-time-together-but-who-really-cares-if-we’re-getting-off-on-the-reg, but never… planned things, like this. And while Stewy’s always been the forward one, giving Kendall what he wants but won’t ask for, he’s never — 

Kendall cuts himself off and reminds himself again to stop overthinking it. 

He slides his hands under the silky fabric, getting a hold of Stewy’s hips. His fingertips touch something that feels very different from his usual boxer briefs. “You could, uh, get on your knees, for starters.” 

Stewy grins. “Yes, sir.” Kendall’s stomach does a somersault and he kisses him again. Stewy hops off the counter, swaying a bit on the heels and holding onto Kendall’s arm for balance. He drops down immediately and starts working open Kendall’s jeans. Even without the outfit, Kendall doesn’t think anyone could manage to look as good giving a blowjob as Stewy does. He keeps his eyes on his the whole time, somehow, no hesitation in his movements. Keeps his cheeks hollowed out as he takes him as deep as he can. Kendall lets him do all the work, just keeps a hand lightly at the back of his head, until Stewy flicks his tongue against the head of his cock just right and Kendall sees stars. He pulls sharply on his hair to stop him. 

“Fuck. That's too good. Come here.” Kendall brings him up into a kiss, cupping his face in his hands. He struggles to kick his pants off the rest of the way as they cling to each other. “God, fuck, I want you so much.” 

“You have me. Where do you want me?” 

“Table?” Kendall says, but it comes out hoarsely and like a question. He tries again, more firmly. “The table.” 

Stewy kisses him once more. “There’s lube on top of the fridge,” he says, as he walks across the kitchen to the dining table. He’s a little steadier on his feet than before, and Kendall is distracted by the movement, how different his gait is like this. Stewy turns back and jerks his head to the fridge to emphasize the point and Kendall jumps to it. He doesn’t see anything from where he’s standing, but when he reaches up toward the back of the fridge, sure enough. He marvels at the little bottle. 

“Is this always up there, dude?” 

Stewy throws him an exasperated look as he yanks a chair away from the table. “Does it matter?” 

“Right. Sorry.” Kendall goes to him. He kisses his neck and runs a hand down his side. “Keep this on for me?” He turns him around and pushes him over the table, then pulls the slip up to his waist and admires the way the heels and the angle and the sheer panties he’s wearing make his ass look like the eighth wonder of the fucking world. He squeezes with both hands. “You look like a stripper," he says. Stewy snorts. 

“Yeah? You like it?” 

“I think you should wear these all the time.” 

Stewy arches his back a little deeper. “You can — if you want, you can slap me. My ass, I mean.” 

Kendall hesitates. It’s stupid, but he hooked up with a girl a handful of times sophomore year who asked him to do that and, like, he did it, but every time it made his skin crawl. “Maybe… uh. Not right now, I —” 

Stewy looks back at him. “It’s fine, Ken. Do whatever you want.” 

“Sorry.” 

“You don’t have to apologize, dude. Maybe you could do _something_ though?” 

“I _am_.” Kendall slips a hand down the front of the panties and squeezes his cock. He bites and sucks on a spot where his neck and shoulder join as he works his hand over him in slow strokes. Eventually he yanks down the underwear, moves one of Stewy’s hands to replace his, and drops to his knees himself. He hasn’t done this very often, only a couple of times and only with Stewy, so he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but he can hear Stewy’s head hit the table at the first swipe of his tongue. “Oh, fuck, Kendall. Fuck.” 

Kendall keeps going, working his tongue inside him, then adds lubed up fingers into the mix. “You prepped for me, didn’t you?” he asks. He imagines what Stewy was up to while he was sitting half-asleep in a lecture hall. “Were you fucking your fingers, waiting for me to come home?” 

“Yes — yeah, I fucking was,” Stewy says, and he’s gasping between words. He drops down flat on the table, apparently too worked up to prop himself up anymore. “Dude — I’m going to come right — fucking right now if you don’t —” 

“Not yet,” Kendall says. He stands up and wraps an arm around him, his hand splayed in the center of his chest. Stewy’s practically boneless, whining as Kendall pushes into him. He fucks him roughly, fast-paced. He barely lasts a few minutes, but at least Stewy comes first, shaking beneath him. Kendall can’t bring himself to let go and stand up, post-orgasm. He presses his mouth to the top of Stewy’s spine, too lazy to even be called a kiss, then rests his cheek against his shoulder blade. 

Stewy doesn’t tolerate him for long, his whole torso pressed down into the table. He slaps at Kendall's hip. “You’re squishing me, bro.” 

“Uhh — oh, sorry.” Kendall stumbles backwards and Stewy straightens up. He looks fucking _ravished_ , if men can look ravished? Well, obviously they can, because he is. Kendall pulls off his t-shirt and hands it over for a cum rag, then more or less collapses to the floor. He stretches out flat on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He feels like he might pass out.

“Not complaining, but, what brought that on?” 

Stewy shrugs. He’s taking the heels off. “Call it a birthday present.” 

“My birthday is, like, months away,” Kendall says, confused. 

“And _my_ birthday is this weekend. Which you definitely remembered, or you’re never seeing these again.” He tosses one of the shoes at him and Kendall catches it before it hits him in the face. 

“I didn’t forget,” he insists. At least he has a couple days to come up with something. He looks at the dark blue stiletto in his hand and thinks suddenly he maybe understands foot fetishes. Stewy joins him on the floor. 

“Sure,” he says. He settles his head on Kendall’s stomach. Kendall strokes a hand through his hair. 

“But — that means — so, you… um. Wanted that, too?” 

Stewy flicks his arm. “Of course I wanted it, you self-centered shit. That was fucking good, Kendall. You’re hot when you’re in charge.” Kendall’s not sure what to say to that, feels embarrassed and inadequate. Stewy turns to look at him and apparently reads his thoughts. He rolls his eyes. “And when you’re not. You don’t need to have an existential crisis about it.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

“I’m hungry though, for real. We should order pizza,” Stewy says. 

“Yeah, same. Can you get the phone?” 

Stewy grins. “Not on your fucking life.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title/lyrics from King Princess.


End file.
